


Conscience

by thewriterpoe



Category: SHINee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterpoe/pseuds/thewriterpoe
Summary: Inspired by 'Press Your Number' music video





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 'Press Your Number' music video

    "Do you want something to drink?" she calls from what he supposes is the kitchen. "I only have beer from the convenient store," she adds peaking over the fridge, looking embarrassed yet again. She's probably thinking about what he spent on shots earlier.

      "Beer is fine," he says even though he won't drink it.

 

      She tells him about the incident two weeks ago where the store was robbed.

      "Is that why you're behaving so recklessly and letting a complete stranger into your home?"

      She startles and he doesn't know if it's at his words or his tone - both somewhat threatening and he gives nothing away when she surveys his face to see if he's teasing. He's not teasing. Still, she shrugs the question off, smiling nervously.

      "But you're not a complete stranger," she offers. "You're the guy who always buys a pack of gum with a $50 note."

      For some reason that makes him smile and she relaxes at that.

      "It's really annoying," she adds.

 

      Taemin knows he doesn't deserve her trust; that he should at least hesitate before he reaches to pop the button of her jeans; really he shouldn't have followed her into her apartment. But he couldn't help himself; locking the door as quietly as he could, following the trail of discarded clothes in the hallway that lead to her bedroom.

      There's only a bed, just like there's only a couch in the living room. Convenience retail doesn't pay much, apparently. She had looked embarrassed as she followed the sweep of his eye across her mismatched consignment furnishings, mumbling somewhat apologetically, "It's not much but it is home."

      He regrets making her feel inferior - he regrets a lot of things- but that doesn't stop him from pulling down her underwear with his index finger to peak at what's at the end of her bunny trail. It’s thick and the scent is strong.

      It feels obligatory to tell her how beautiful she is, so he does.

      She kisses him erratically; sometimes hard, sometimes soft. She takes charge then falls back, checks to see if he’s into it, like she desperately wants to please him but doesn’t know how.

      “We can do it how you like,” he says encouragingly, “you control the tempo.”

      That seems to give her confidence and she tugs his hair hard. His jugular vein pops under the strain of the stretch. From the corner of his eye he can see the smile this gives her. She wants to hurt him but she doesn't know why. He knows why. He knows she needs to get back the control he took from her when he put the gun to her face.


End file.
